Fire Emblem: War Wounds
by PurgedPendragon
Summary: [FE9] View the War of Crimea from the eyes of an adolescent, docile man as he roughly travels around the continent of Tellius, land unpredictably doused in rage, racism, and warfare. Can he endure the horrors of combat and fatality?
1. Bloody Murder

**Year 640**

_Boots made crunching noise on the forest's underbrush as I tramped toward the commotion. Another hair-raising shriek caused my heart thump wildly and my leather boots to lose footing and slip. Brushing dirt from my face, I pivoted my body around trees; I held my cloak in one hand to keep it from dragging and snaring on nature._

_There! A splatter of blood soaked the tree bark, like an evil disturbance on the forest's natural beauty. As I hurried on, the blood was thicker, shinier- signs of a struggle all over the trees and growth. I saw bodies strewn everywhere on the dirt. Axe wounds, sword gashes, arrows jutting from heads, chests, and vital spots in general. I tried not to retch- the reek and scene of death was appalling._

_A yell echoed and faded. I quickened my pace to the point where I broke a sweat and my lungs screamed for a rest. I wasn't meant for this, I wasn't a mercenary priest or any kind of position like that. I was a simple healer living with his parents, that's all._

_Nothing special. Not at all._

_I slowed to a stop and clasped a tree trunk, heaving and gasping for air. Blood painted the heart of the forest like a flood. Dead corpses decorated the forest floor, thrown into piles by survivors- if there were any. Weapons dyed crimson were left abandoned._

_I heard clip-clop of hooves through the ghastly stillness. Louder and louder they became, like the heart ramming into my chest. _

_Was it someone to slay me? A man whose curiosity took the better of his mind? And now, a man who wanted to cure the wounded and innocent? _

_No- it was a woman mounted upon a stunningly white stallion. Clad in professional silver armor reflecting the sun's afternoon rays, she held the horse's reins in one arm and awkwardly hugged the steed's neck with the other. She bent over the mount as though she were injured, radiant, long red braid dangling over her shoulder. The evidence of a fight was upon her: like the forest, she too was tainted with blood, on hair, armor, weapons…_

_The horse clopped slowly toward me, but came to a stop ten paces or so away as the knight tugged the reins tiredly. Then, she slid off her mount with excruciating pain and fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. I ran toward the woman, knelt by her side, and flipped her over very gently._

_Emeralds gazed at amber as the woman gasped for breath. Her wounds were fatal; I could identify gashes and slashes from axes and swords from face to torso, leg to foot, bleeding profusely. Her hands trembled as she reached to touch my own pale and sickly. _

_Pulling a stave from the sleeves of my long cloak, I started a silent healing rhyme in my mind. She only batted an eyelid as I held my stave before her eyes. _

Blessed Goddess of Light

Lend a priest thy healing might

_The woman's flame of life began to flicker, her breaths fewer, and her heart slowing…_

Use it I shall only to cure

With power so precious and pure

_Glimmering, wavering…dimming…_

_Her eyes were sealing, her breaths were stopping. She mouthed silent words at me, like a plea or question…_

_Was this death waiting patiently to happen? To squeeze the life from its victim?_

Let me tend to one with pain so real

May my hands bring comfort to heal.

_Fighting, murder, dying._

_Was death the wound of war?_

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Hey there! I want to thank you for reading the first chapter of Fire Emblem: War Wounds. It's my first piece here on FanFiction. 

I'd appreciate any critique you have, as long as you do it politely. Thanks!

Anyway, this story starts a bit...gorey. I'm sure you've figured out who our main protagonist is already. XD He's such a sweetheart.

Also, I'd love to read your reviews on this. I'm a bit anxious...

-Purge


	2. The Epistle

Huzzah! Another chapter!

I'll reply to reviews from people here. From now on, answers/whatnot will be up here.

**Lizai**: Thank you! Yes, I think Rhys should deserve more attention too. Half of my characters would've died in FE9 if it weren't for Rhys.

**Haku**: Hey Haku! Thanks for reading my story so far.

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**Year 643**

Morning rays peeked through my lone window in my one room house. It was what I considered my own petite dwelling, as none of my fellow mercenaries shared it with me. Then again, it was the sanitarium of our stronghold. Den to the hired mercenary priest working to pay the taxes of his parents. Haven to the injured and sick of the Greil Mercenaries.

I yawned and stretched in the radiance of the first light. Tossing sheets away, I climbed out of my bed and observed the familiar room before me.

Four other beds lined the lightly colored slate walls, each with clean sheets and blankets neatly tucked into the bed frame. Fluffed, feather-packed pillows sat stacked on a tiny timber table. A cupboard held melted candles and rustic lanterns; a bookshelf contained tomes of healing and instructions of how to care for another if I was absent. One untidy bed with crumpled blankets and a furrowed pillow stood opposite of the infirmary beds. A bedside stand with a stave, an aged oil lamp, and a miniature bronze mirror stood beside the used cot. An iron basin sat in the corner, with a pail of water nearby it.

I stumbled groggily toward the mirror and peered into the figure before my eyes.

A young face returned my gaze, bangs of reddish-sunset colored hair drooping over glazed amber eyes. He appeared to be lethargic and even dull witted within the wee hours of day. His bed clothes consisted of a thin, white shirt and russet pants. As I attempted to stifle another yawn, so did he.

"Rhys," I said to the man before me. "It's time to work. You've been bedridden for a week; that's not going to aid the Greil Mercenaries."

Moving away, I robbed myself of anymore slumber by submerging my face into freezing water in the sink. Wiping excess water off my face using a rag, I then changed into my white, hooded robe with blue lining the cuffs and ends. Under that, a light sea green coat covered my thinner periwinkle robe, gold fabric coating the edges. Beneath _that_ combo was a simple, necked cerulean shirt, generally veiled with all the clothing on top. I attached them as one by binding a sash as blue as lucid daytime around my waist.

My pants were merely a plain tan and, in my opinion, were in the best kept condition of the entire fort. But no one cared about the best cared-for pants, to say the least.

I slipped on thick leather boots and buckle the straps down, testing them out by taking a few steps and pausing.

Pocketing my key to the sick bay, I strode outside and secured the entrance behind me; I gazed at the sky and smiled.

Life was good.

I ambled in the sunshine; no clouds buried the face of the sun. Little puffs of sand and soil rose and fell as I made my way down the dirt path, away from home base. The lawns were green, the forest stood unbothered, and I seemed to be in the best of moods. For once in an extensive time, I felt like a youth should've felt: young, free, alive.

Alive. So alive!

Rhys? The priest who always came down with the cold, the fever, the flu that made him dash to the woodland to spew his lunch.

Once in a blue moon, I felt free of discomfort, free of headaches and stomach-aches, free of pain!

"Aye! Yer lookin' mighty 'appy, 'oly man!"

I swiveled around in alarm to face a peasant, who took the appearance of a non-threatening person. He was clad in peasant's attire, and carried the appalling stench of horse manure.

Waving, I replied, "Yes, I am! Thank you kindly, sir!"

Smiling, and nearly toothlessly, the peasant questioned me. "Dis be t'e Greel mer-son-air-ees, righ'?"

"You're correct, sir." I answered, nodding my head.

Walking over to my position, the strange man held a scroll of parchment in his hands. It bore no seal of any type and was bound together by a slender piece of cord.

"Give dis to t'e red 'aired girlie knigh', you's un-da-standin'?"

Swallowing nervously, I agreed to deliver the letter of some sort to Titania. After that, the man ambled off to wherever he lived or labored…or maybe he was going to resume cleaning up the mount corral…

"Ashera bless you!" I called after the retreating man.

He was…certainly odd.

But what did he desire from Titania? Surely he wasn't from another mercenary group, trying to convince Titania to switch jobs and whatnot.

Would she really exchange herself?

No, she wouldn't. I had faith in Titania. She loved her employment and the people she worked with. She wouldn't leave us for some other group.

Never.

I initiated my search for Titania to deliver the unadorned epistle.

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That seemed a bit boring. Honestly, it did.

Next chapter will be better, as FE9 fans know what's in the letter. Whoo!

What else...

Ah well. Critique and reviews are loved and appreciated! Thanks for reading!

-Purge


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